


to stand on your own two feet

by perennials



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, happy birthday the sweetest katsudon fatale we love you, happy end. of course
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 20:44:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8682751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perennials/pseuds/perennials
Summary: “You're strong. You've grown stronger. You've always been strong.”No, I'm weak, Yuuri thinks.“You're so much stronger than you think you are.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> cheesy and cliche as fuck but HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO KATSUKI YUURI!! our favorite katsudon fatale, the kindest, p(r)ettiest, strongest and most loved by all. may the last four anime episodes treat you kindly

i.

 

In this dream, someone is talking to him. Their voice travels across the mottled landscape like a column of cold air, whistling in his ears like a breeze. It's a familiar voice.

 

In this dream, someone is moving towards him. Their shadow solidifies before him; he stands rooted to the ground, motionless, as souls tangled up in dreams tend to.

 

“You're strong. You've grown stronger.” A voice that feels more like memory than murmur, trilling soft and gentle. “You've always been strong.”

 

 _No, I'm weak_ , Yuuri thinks.

 

“You're so much stronger than you think you are.”

 

 _Weak, weak, weak. Weak,_ failure _, weak. Couldn't keep it together long enough to skate a proper routine, couldn't save Vicchan, couldn't even get my idol to recognize me as an equal on the ice._

 

An image flashes before his eyes. Yuuri— _himself_ — hunched over on the seat of a dimly-lit toilet cubicle, phone gripped loosely between his fingers. He is stifling his sobs as best as he can, tears slipping silently down his face like there is a broken faucet under his eyelids. He does not look like Japan’s ace. He does not look like anything.

 

 _Weak_ , Yuuri thinks.

 

“You made it to the finals yourself,” the shadow reminds him.

 

_I made it. I made it and I lost._

 

“But you made it. You’ll get there again someday. I promise.”

 

 _Promise?_ Blink, breathe, believe, suddenly Yuuri is five again, all eager, saucer-round eyes and apple-white cheeks. Hope unfurls in his chest like a flower blooming into color and light.

 

“I promise.”

 

Child-Yuuri smiles, satisfied. Older, smaller Yuuri doesn't know what to think.

 

 _Okay_.

  


ii.

 

Katsuki Yuuri, twenty-three and 2014 World Grand Prix finalist, looks in the mirror every morning and tries to blur his reflection with the pads of his fingers.

 

He is the ugliest thing he sees every morning. He is the ugliest thing, end of story. He wants nothing to do with skating ever again.

 

But being depressed gets boring after a while. Guilt is an old acquaintance by now, but it is by no means a welcome visitor. It sits in his bones and burns his veins like poison, twists his stomach into something unpleasant and burrows into his thoughts, spreading like soot. So Yuuri lets it go.

 

He grabs his skates and headphones and heads to the rink.

  


iii.

 

Viktor crashes into his life with the enthusiasm of a puppy— a very large, very well-endowed one. Yuuri can't believe his ~~luck~~ misfortune. This is the man who treated him like one of his dime-a-dozen fans last year. This is the man whose posters he has pinned up all over his room. This is a man who knows what he's doing.

 

...or maybe not.

 

Viktor is a sweet-and-spicy trainwreck of an existence, encroaching upon Yuuri’s personal space (both physical and mental) at every given opportunity. He is loud and brash and beautiful and Yuuri is alive again. Yuuri is breathing properly again. His lungs are filled with air, air, air, and with every jump he lands Viktor sings words of praise lovelier than the sweetest love sonnet.

 

See, Yuuri has always been brilliant, but moonlight needs the backdrop of night to truly glow. The Grand Prix finals last year have dyed him bruised blue with defeat, and now Viktor is here to shine a spotlight on it all.

 

And maybe he doesn't shine it properly all the time, maybe he's a more talented skater than a coach, but he tries. He tries, and it's enough.

 

_Could you try that segment again? There's something I’d like to reexamine._

 

Yuuri is on fire. Viktor is in love.

 

Neither knows this yet.

  


iv.

 

The free skate event at the cup of China is single-handedly the most surprising, pivotal experience of Yuuri’s life. He cries, he gets angry, he skates, he gets kissed, he does a quadruple flip, he places second, he gets kissed.

 

He gets kissed.

 

(Correction: _Viktor_ _kisses_ him.)

 

Yuuri attempts to tackle the subject matter later, when they've returned to their hotel room and he is warm in the embrace of soft feather-down blankets. Without a doubt Viktor is softer, and warmer, but Yuuri would die before saying that to his face.

 

“About that kiss, earlier.”

 

Viktor’s eyebrows shoot up. “I am not sure how it is in Japan, but where I come from it’s an expression of love.”

 

“Oh. Yeah. Of course.”

 

...

 

Yuuri’s fingers bunch in the front of Viktor’s shirt. “So when did you realize you, you know, towards me…”

 

Viktor hums, low and thoughtful.

 

“From the very first moment I opened that YouTube video, probably.”

 

“Really?” _Really really_ really?

 

Viktor kisses his forehead.

 

“Really.”

  


v.

 

In this dream Yuuri isn't alone. Or, rather, there are two Yuuri’s. One Yuuri is him, himself; the other is a specter.

 

“You're strong,” other-Yuuri says. He's wearing their free skate outfit, the one that's midnight-blue and glittery and shows off his butt a little. The fabric shifts as he turns to face Yuuri, stretching and shimmering along his torso and arms like it’s woven with stars.

 

 _Am I?_ Other-Yuuri is smiling, a small, proud thing that lights up his face like the sunrise.

 

“You’re the strongest you've ever been. I'm proud— we’re all proud.”

 

 _I guess I am_. Yuuri can't deny it this time.

 

“I didn't break my promise, see? You really, really made it. You won. You're a winner.”

 

Looking down at himself, for the first time Yuuri notices the gold medal hanging from his neck. It’s big and bright and beautiful. It's his.

 

Katsuki Yuuri, twenty-four and 2015 World Grand Prix finalist, presses the medal to his chest with the flat of his palm and swallows a burst of happiness.

 

“I knew you could do it.” Other-Yuuri steps forward, closing the distance between them with an arm around Yuuri’s neck. Only suddenly it’s not Yuuri anymore, it’s Viktor, ruffling Yuuri’s hair between his fingers and laughing quietly.

 

“You did it, Yuuri! You did it!”

 

 _Really?_ Yuuri asks.

 

“Yes, love, you’re amazing.” Viktor tugs him forward and bumps their foreheads together, his expression softening into a sigh.

 

“You’re not weak.  You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met,” he breathes, eyes sparkling. “Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise. Okay?”

 

Yuuri kind of wants to cry.

 

 _Okay,_ he says _. Okay._

**Author's Note:**

> AAAA i drew birthday art too cos i suck ( http://corpsentry.tumblr.com/post/153778337039/happy-birthday-to-our-sweetest-katsudon-fatale )  
> ANYWAY THANKS FOR READING. this is part 1 which is emo and vague, i have another birthday fic planned which is like halfway done. i'll see if i can get it done anytime soon. we'll see  
> if ya liked it consider leaving a comment or a kudo or somethin, or not, really, whatever floats your boat. mine is safe and water-free thx to the hbd yuuri japanese hashtag but idk about yours
> 
> have a good one


End file.
